


the gunsmith king and the iron frog

by Merideath



Series: into the woods [6]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, The Frog Prince, violence towards frogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6547120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time there was a princess whose most beloved treasure was a golden ball. That’s the way history remembers it anyway. Truth and history didn’t always meet eye to eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the gunsmith king and the iron frog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ladysarah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladysarah/gifts), [Jadzia_Bear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia_Bear/gifts).



> A fairy tale retelling of 'The Frog King or Iron Heinrich' by the Brothers Grimm. I've been reading The Complete First EditionL The Original Folk and Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm, translated and edited by Jack Zipes, and the Turnip Princess and other newly discovered fairy tales by Franz Xavier von Schonwerth, among a few other fairy tale books. Maybe a binge is a more apt description, either way I'm just happy to be reading and finding the inspiration to play around with words again. Perhaps I will write my own fairy tale versions one day, but for now Tony/Pepper it is.
> 
> Thank you Aenaria for the wonderful job beta'ing. 
> 
> This little story is for LadySarah, the Colonial setting is all her fault, and jadziabear, who always encourages my wandering in the woods.

Once upon a time there was a princess whose most beloved treasure was a golden ball. That’s the way history remembers it anyway. Truth and history didn’t always meet eye to eye.

There was a ball. It gleamed golden in the light. It was made from shining brass, perfect and seamless, carved with flowers and vines and tiny animals hidden in the scroll work. 

The ball chimed when passed between hands. It was Virginia’s most prized possession, a gift from her merchant father on his last voyage across the bitter sea. One hot summer’s day Virginia took the golden ball with her into the shade of the woods. She would toss the ball into the air and listen to it sing merrily as it spun in the air before falling neatly into her cupped hands. 

The hem of her petticoat was stained with dirt, and green, green grass. Her cap was lost in a thicket of blackberries, the very same berries that stained her slim fingers. Leaves clung to her copper hair like a forest given crown. 

Virginia threw the ball up, laughing happily as it sang out and caught it again and again. Until the time she threw the ball too high and far. The ball struck the ground and rolled, bumping over a small stone and sinking into a deep well of water on the forest floor. 

“Oh, no,” Virginia cried, dropping to the edge of the moss covered well. Tears sprung to her eyes as the gleaming ball sank down into the dark depths of the water. The ball was gone. Not a speck of it shined from the black depths of the well. She crumpled up her white skirt in her hands and brought the stiff fabric to her sun-kissed face. Salt tears soaked the fabric, a sob tearing from her pink lips. 

“What’s got you so sad, princess?” said a voice. 

Virginia’s breath hitched in her throat and she dropped her skirts, eyes scanning the trees to find the voice. She was alone but for a small ugly frog whose head was above the water’s surface. 

The frog was red and gold, as if it had been painted in bright enamel. 

“I’m crying because I lost my beautiful ball, water-dweller. It fell into the water,” Virginia said. 

“Be still, honey, and I will retrieve your plaything. But what will you give me?” said the frog.

“I have neither gold, or continentals, but you may have my jewels, my silver scissors, or pearl knife,” Virginia said. She slipped her hand into the slit in her skirts to find the pocket tied around her slim waist. Her fingertips brushed the warm metal of the scissors.

“I am but a frog, I have no use for silver or gold, but I am in need of a friend, Miss..?”

“Virginia Potts.” 

“Virginia, what a beautiful name,” the frog said, bobbing his head in the water. “If you promise me companionship I will retrieve your plaything.”

“I will promise you anything.”

“All I ask is that you take me home, share food from your china plate, and give me a place to sleep in your bed.”

“I promise, water-dweller,” Virginia said. It is only a stupid creature of the water, she thought, I need not keep a promise to such a vile thing. 

“Anthony,” the frog said. “My name is Anthony.”

“What a strange name for a frog.”

“Know many frogs do you?”

“One is enough for me,” she said. “Hurry now, frog-Anthony.”

“As you wish,” said the frog. 

The frog dove deep into the well. Down and down, into the murky depths. Virginia clasped her hands together in worry. After a time, the frog swum up to the surface, the gleaming ball held within its wide mouth. The frog spat the ball out onto the ground and Virginia clapped her hands together in joy. 

She scooped the ball up and dried it carefully on the folds of her skirts, slippered feet moving beneath her. Virginia was running before she could think about it, a bubble of happiness filling her heart. 

“Wait, wait up, dear Virginia,” called the frog. 

Virginia did not wait. She ran home and soon forgot all about the red and gold frog that lived in the well beneath the shade of the woods. The very next day, when the merchant sat at dinner with his daughter a knock was heard at the door. 

“Sir, there is a visitor at the door. Says he’s here to see Miss Potts,” the maid said, dipping her head down low, eyes fixed firm to the floor. 

“A suitor?” Mister Potts asked, beaming a smile at his daughter.

“No sir,” said the maid. “It might be best if you come have a look for yourself, Sir, Miss,” Penny finished, dipping into a curtsy. 

A terrible feeling of dread filled Virginia. The last bite of food turned to ash in her mouth and she struggled to swallow it, even with a mouthful of wine. 

There was no one at the door. No person anyway. On the stone step was a small red and gold frog.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Virginia, clutching the embroidered stomacher below the lace tucker of her blue silk gown. Beneath her fingers, her heart beat frantically within her chest.

“Good even, Virginia,” Anthony the frog said.

“Do you know this foul creature, daughter?” asked the merchant. His kind eyes pierced through Virginia, and she dropped her eyes to the line where the floor met the threshold.

“Yes, Father, the water-dweller saved my singing ball when it fell into the deep water in the woods,” Virginia said, smoothing her hands over stomacher and gown. “I promised the frog we would be companions.”

“Indeed,” said the frog. “She promised to share her plate with me, and her sleeping bed.”

“A promise made is a promise to be kept, daughter mine,” Mister Potts said. “Welcome to my father’s house, little frog.”

Virginia was miserable. At the table, she was forced to lift the slick frog up beside her china plate. She fed the frog tidbits of beef from the tip of her knife. She imagined herself spearing the frog through the heart until its blood ran red on the cloth. 

“Oh, Virginia, I grow so tired after such a fine meal. Pick me up and carry me to bed, so I may sleep beside you, curled in the safety of your bosom,” said the frog. Virginia’s hands clenched into stones. “Ah, ah, you promised.”

“Come, vile creature,” Virginia said. She scoops up the frog with a white linen handkerchief embroidered with tiny blue flowers that matched the embroidery on Virginia’s gown. “Goodnight, Father.”

Alone in her room, Virginia placed the frog on the table beside the little wooden stand that held the beautiful golden ball. 

“Ah, you promised to share your pillow with me, honey,” Anthony the frog said, stretching out his long back legs. 

The merchant’s daughter growled low in her throat and moved the red and gold frog to the bed, placing it down on a lace-edged pillow. A spark of anger grew in her heart. She did not wish to spend the night with such loathsome a creature as a frog that spoke as if it were a man. A promise was made, a promise she would keep else suffer her father’s wrath. 

“Hold me close next to your beating heart so that I may sleep as sweetly as you, dear Virginia,” the frog said. Virginia turns her head, looking at the shadows of the tree that dance on the wall in the light of the full moon.

The frog inched closer, crawling across the white pillowcase.

The frog's clammy flesh brushed the bare skin at Virginia’s neck, and the spark of fire in her heart burned all the air in her lungs. She grabbed the frog by its foot and tossed it across the room. The red and gold frog hit the wall with a wet thunk. “Sleep forever, dear frog.”

The frog slid down the wall but never hit the floor. Instead, a flash of golden light filled every corner of the room. The frog was gone, and in its place, a man sat. Not a scrap of cloth covered him. The man had dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard, and eyes that gleamed with mischief in the moonlight. 

“Who are you? Where has my frog gone?”

“I am Anthony,” the man said, rocking up on his feet. A hand slapped out against the wall to steady the sway of the man’s strong legs. “Anthony Stark, you may have heard of me. I am quite famous around the colonies, princess.” 

Virginia shook her head no and found enough courage to hold out a blanket for the man, Anthony, to cover himself with. 

Anthony Stark was rich as a king, or as rich as a king by rights should be. He was a gunsmith, the son of Lord Stark, and inheritor the title to The Stark Company. Virginia listened to the man talk. Oh, did he love the sound of his own voice as he told her his tale. A witch had cursed him into the form of a frog and bound him to the wild wood. 

Not one foot, one hop, could he step within the bounds of the colonies without a promise of companionship. 

Before the tale was done Virginia fell into a deep and blissful sleep. At morning’s first light all imaginings of princes in her dreams bled off with the sight of the man sprawled across her bed clothes. Anthony asked for her hand, and she accepted in the span of time it took to drain her cup of tea. Her father was greatly pleased with the match, and the promise of a wealthy son to care for his beloved daughter.

Within a fortnight a man arrived at the door, wearing a coat of blue and white. Major-general James Rhodes was a handsome man with gleaming silver buttons and a smile as bright as the frog turned man. 

“It’s true, you are alive,” Rhodes said in greeting. He grasped Anthony’s arms and searched his friend’s face, smile wavering through the tears shining in the man’s eyes.

“Of course, brother,” Anthony said. He wrapped his friend in a tight hug. James' heart echoed loud in his chest, and a laugh passed his lips like a crack of thunder. 

“Oh how I have missed you, my friend,” James said, laughing like the breaking of iron bands. “Come, we have a war to win.”

“But first, we drink, to beauty, good health, and the promises of princesses and frogs.”

“Frogs?”

“It is a long story to tell on a longer night than this, my faithful friend.”

The end.


End file.
